She's never been any good at pretending
by GoingVintage
Summary: It's just those little moments, those tiny seconds that they share, that makes her unsure of how she feels about him. (My first Olicity fic!)


She doesn't love him…exactly, but she's not really sure how to describe how she feels about him. It makes her think of seventh grade and of Ethan Evans. With his dimpled smile and his wavy brown hair, Felicity remembers the way her heart would summersault whenever she walked into the cafeteria and Ethan smiled at her. Sure, he smiled at all the girls, but every single time he flashed one of his easy, carefree grins her way, Felicity would feel her heart melt right down into her shoes.

It's the same way with Oliver. He smiles and she feels like the sun's rays are warming her face. Of course, unlike with Ethan, a smile from Oliver also makes desire thrum low in her belly, and then she has decidedly wicked thoughts that never occurred to the twelve-year-old version of herself. Add to that, of course, Oliver's penchant to go shirtless and get all sweaty while he's exercising, his arms flexing and his scars rippling against the corded muscles in his back, and she feels her tongue and fingers tingle. He's like the most decadent sugar-filled dessert she's ever seen, and that makes Felicity a diabetic, because she certainly can't have him.

...

"I still don't know how she does it, Dig." Felicity hears Oliver's voice as she's undoing her coat and hanging it on the rack that she hounded Oliver to get. ("Just because we work in a basement doesn't mean we need to scrimp on the basic necessities of life, Oliver!") She pauses, her fingers settling on the bottom button of her jacket, and turns her face toward their low murmur of voices.

"She's a genius, Oliver. The best thing you ever did was hire that woman. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't be able to accomplish half the shit you do."

"I know," she hears Oliver reply. "But I always feel like, one day, she's going to decide that the danger and all the hell she gets put through isn't worth it and she's going to leave. I depend on her too damn much, Dig, and that scares me."

Felicity hears Oliver sigh and then hears Diggle's responding chuckle. "She's not going anywhere, man. She's in. For good. Because of _you_."

She's glowering now, her fingers shoving the last button through the hole with enough force to break the thin threads holding it in place, because the knowing sound in John's voice makes her uncomfortable.

As she shoves her coat onto the hook and lifts her shoulders, she tells herself that she needs to find a way to be less transparent. She's never been any good at pretending, but maybe it's time to develop that particular skill.

...

Felicity's never been the jealous type, but every single time she sets her gaze on Isabel, she thinks back to Russia and then she feels like taking her claws out. (Also, don't get her started on Her Majesty of the Tumbling Curls and Pouty Glances, Princess Laurel.) Sure, she might be MIT-educated and refined (except for the whole rambling thing, which she's _totally _working on), but Isabel makes her feel dirty, like she just found a swarm of cockroaches in her underwear drawer. The way she looks at Oliver, like she's seen him naked (and yeah, she knows that Isabel has), sends Felicity's blood pressure right through the roof. It makes her think of 9th grade, when someone else, who also happened to be named Isabelle, decided to taunt Felicity and her friends for being "nerds." Felicity's always had a thick skin (it comes with the territory when you're a genius), but the unending taunting of that stick-thin, big-breasted little snob finally made Felicity snap, and she still remembers with satisfaction the day she finally tripped Isabelle and watched her fall flat on her face. And the best part was when she landed and the socks she was using to stuff her bra came flying out of her shirt, leaving her not only horrified, but even more flat-chested than Felicity was. Those memories make her smile, and she imagines tripping Isabel as she saunters into Oliver's office. She can practically see Isabel tumbling to the carpet, her tall heels fling off and, with any luck, landing on her head. When Oliver catches Felicity grinning and asks what has her so happy, all Felicity tells him is, "Memories." He scowls at her answer, like he's not happy that she's keeping a secret from him, but she figures that secrets are one of the things that Oliver can understand.

...

She'll never admit it to Oliver or John, but she is sometimes afraid to go home. She has a nice-enough apartment only a few blocks from Queen Consolidated and, prior to getting involved with the whole "Hood" thing, she was never exposed to a lot of crime. She really didn't pay much attention to it. She spent most of her free time on online gamer sites and in message boards for other hackers, and, outside of that world (which yes, she's well aware that hacking is illegal, but she considers it a victimless crime), she paid little attention to what was going on outside of her four walls. Her time as Oliver's Girl Friday, though, has caused her to be hyper-aware of the very dregs of society. She notices every noise – every siren, every slam of a car door, every voice, as she walks to her apartment, and her nervousness climbs higher and higher until her throat feels tight and her mouth feels like it's filled with sandpaper. It isn't until she's inside her studio apartment and her sophisticated alarm system, which she designed and programmed herself, is activated that she can breathe again. Even then, she notices thuds from neighboring apartments and the rising timbre of voices during heated arguments from three doors down. She hates that she's so aware of the darkest parts of Starling City's society now because she's not always under the protection of Oliver and John. Sure, they're a phone call away and she knows without a doubt that they'd be there in a second if she needs them, but she's still nervous. It's one of the side effects of the job. (The vigilante partner-in-crime job, not the executive secretary job.) She's happy that she works most of the time, because she feels safe when Oliver is around. Either in a suit or in a hood, she knows that she has no reason to fear even the darkest, scariest people when he's around.

...

On a Saturday night, Felicity is feeling particularly jumpy. It's been quiet, as far as Oliver's _other _job is concerned, and he sends them home pretty early. John jumps at the chance because Lyla's waiting on him, but Felicity hangs around longer, doing performance analysis and back-ups of all their systems. There's a tension at the base of her spine that she can't explain. All she knows is that it feels like she needs to stay where she is.

"Felicity."

She jumps when Oliver says her name, swiveling around in her chair to meet his eyes. He's in tailored slacks and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. As he walks toward her, he shoves his hands into his pockets and her eyes take in the way the shift cradles his biceps. She wants to bite her lip and let out a little moan because he looks _so good_, but she settles for smiling instead.

"Go home." Oliver leans against her desk. "There's no reason to hang out tonight. Go! Have a life. Order some pizza. Watch some trash TV. Do something besides what you're doing."

Unable to voice why she's so uncomfortable about the thought of going home, Felicity nods and turns to shut down her systems. Minutes later, she's driving home. The niggling doubt is still there, making her heart pound as she parks her car two blocks from her apartment.

Her eyes dart around as she makes her way toward her building. There's a man and a woman locked in a heated embrace against the building up ahead. Her legs are spread and the man's hand is moving between them. Felicity's mouth drops open at the same time that her face flames and she tucks her head against her chest as she picks up her pace and walks past them. Once she can only hear their raspy moans behind her, she sees her building up ahead and starts to relax. It's at that moment that a man moves out of the shadows across the street and heads right for her. She sees that he's dressed in black and in his glove-covered hand is something shiny and metallic, glinting in soft glow of the streetlights.

Felicity's senses are screaming, now on high alert because _this _is what she's been afraid of all night. Right as the man approaches her, she feels a hand on her elbow. She lets out a yelp and starts to turn, ready to shove her fist into the solar plexus of whoever happens to be behind her, when she hears her name.

"Felicity."

Her breath whooshes out of her in a gale. _Oliver. _

The man, who was heading toward her, veers away and slides back into the shadows, gone again to search for another victim. Felicity turns and blinks up at Oliver, who is staring down at her.

"Oliver… how… what… I wasn't feeling that great tonight and I didn't want to say anything but I just felt like things were going to be bad if I came home and sure enough it could have been but…" She stops herself and blinks up at him. "How did you know?"

"I just had a feeling." Oliver guides her toward her door. "I know when you need me, Felicity, even when you hide it."

As he gets into the elevator with her, his intent on seeing her safely inside very clear, she tells herself once again that she doesn't love him…exactly.

* * *

**Author's Note** - I've barely written in the past year, but I'm now caught up on Arrow and shipping Olicity so hard that I can't see straight. My pledge to myself in 2014 is to write more, so here we go!


End file.
